Wish and Price
by awesomnia
Summary: It all started with a wish. But every wish has a price. In a world set against them, our heroes fight to regain what they have lost. With royalty, airships, mafia, and magic, this is a tale you don't want to miss. AU, steampunk/fantasy world, ensemble cas
1. beginnings and endings

Oh God….why am I writing this again? *sigh*

For my first fanfic in about…..three years, I had to create a story with Too Many Characters, Too Long a plot, and an incredibly AU world. Oh yeah, and did I mention, I've never written Hetalia before?

Fuck. I'm screwed._ Don't mind my angsting…._

OH WHAT THE HELL LETS DO THIS THING

A couple points-

-the pairings here are still undecided (only one definite one), although there are a couple that I am leaning towards-but feedback from you guys can change that :3

**-I don't know if this will be continued-it's sort of experimental, and the more feedback I get, the greater my drive to continue writing ;)**

-And yes, this first chapter is _meant _to be confusing-ish. There may or may not be OOC-ness. There is a reason to my madness. As the story progresses, hopefully all the holes will be filled-but feel free to ask any questions. I will answer as long as it doesn't give away the plot.

In any case, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of Wish/Price, and maybe hopefully possibly leave a review please?

…**I'm pretty sure everyone just skipped that entire authors note. Meh. **

**Read & Review, and enjoy~**

**...**

WISH/PRICE

...

...

_Set the Stage and Meet the Players: Chapter 1_

It all started with a wish. A wish made by the drunken ex-sky pirate in his favorite bar, or maybe the twelve-year-old boy with a dying brother, or the wealthy lady engaged to a man she does not know, or the teenager in love with a god, or even the man who asked to be More Than Human. Wherever you choose to begin, it all started with a wish.

But every wish has a price.

...

It is early morning on the road leading to Elucia. The sun rises over the bare trees and shrubs that dot the landscape, glinting off the snow that had fallen the night before. The temperature is steadily rising as the world is slowly warmed by sun's heat, but still the air is cold and crisp.

There is a single steam-carriage that rattles along the road, and the clouds of smoke and steam trail behind. In the carriage are three seemingly teenage boys, one of which is driving the car.

"Yao-hyung, are we there yet?"

"**Yeah "hyung", how much longer?**"

"Would both of you kindly shut up? Since we are still traveling in the steam-carriage, I assume that we are not 'there yet."

"Noone asked you, Kiku!"

Yao sighed, and glanced at the back seat where two teenagers were sitting. The first was sprawled over the hard metal and wood seat, idly tapping a tune on the window, while the second sat ramrod straight as he polished a sword.

"We're almost there, Yong-soo; Kiku, be nicer to your brother. And "Yong-joon", please don't talk unless necessary, it draws too much attention with two voices coming from one body, aru."

Both boys speak at the same time.

"Yong-soo is not my brother, Yao."

"**Yeah, alright, 'hyung'. I'll shut up and be a **_**good **_**little powerful demon.**_"_

"Shut up, Joon! It's _my _body you're borrowing here!"

"**Che. Like you could stop me from taking over this pitiful excuse for a body."**

"I _so _could!"

Yao sighs again, and turns and _glares _at both of them. Yong-Soo squeaks in alarm and Kiku simply stares back.

"_Stop. Arguing. _If I hear _one _more stupid conversation from back there, I'm kicking you two out. Kiku, for the rest of the time while we're in Elucia, we're related, okay? And Yong-Joon, _shut up. _We don't need trouble from the Traditionalists, and I don't think you particularly want to be exorcised, do you? Keep a closer lid on him, Yong-soo."

"_YAO-HYUNG WATCH OUT!"_

Yao immediately turns to look out the windshield. There is a large oak tree. Getting closer. _Wait….getting closer? OH SHIT. _Closing his eyes, he smashes his foot on the break, and the tires give a loud screech that makes everyone wince. (**A/N ASIANS CAN'T DRIVE. No matter what universe you put them into :D-btw I'm Korean so….yeah)**

He opens his eyes. There is a tree trunk, right in front of the car. He looks back at the boys in the back, both who have their hands tightly gripped on the brass hand-rails.

For a moment, silence.

"You would think, Yao, that with being a seven hundred year old immortal, that you would be a better driver."

"…..Be quiet, Kiku."

Yao takes his foot off the brake and redirects the steam-carriage onto the road.

...

They reach the outskirts of the city around midmorning, and are stopped by the gates of the city by a young border guard with blue eyes and a wide smile.

"Hi there! Where ya guys headed?"

Yao cranks the handle that lowers the window, and smiles slightly at the boy, leaning out of the window. He is surprised to see that the guard is only Yong-soo's age.

"We're headed for the Merchants Quarter in the Middle Side of the city. A friend of mine is keeping a shop for me there."

"Okay, can I see your papers, please?"

Yao nods in acquiescence, before rummaging around in a leather satchel to find the papers he had acquired a week before. The border guard shifts his weight from foot to foot and glances though window into the back seats of the steam-carriage.

"Who's there in the back?"

"Huh?-oh, Yong-soo, lower the window."

The teenager obliges, cranking the back window open down all the way before waving at the guard and grinning.

"Hi! I'm Yong-soo. What's your name?"

The guard grins back. "I'm Alfred. Who's that next to ya?"

"That's Kiku; he's my brother, da-ze."

"Cool. Nice to meet you."

Kiku nods in acknowledgement and returns to polishing his sword.

Yong-soo stares at the guard, looking him over, _this guy seems pretty nice, I wonder if everyone in Elucia is like this…_when Yong-joon interrupts his thoughts. _**That one has a feeling similar to the purple-eye fiend that Yao searches for. Tread carefully. **_

Yong-soo's eyes widen in surprise, but before he can say anything, Yao interrupts.

"Ah! Here they are, aru! Here you go, Alfred."

"Thanks."

Alfred-the-border-guard looks over the papers. "Alright, you guys are set. Have a nice time in the city!"

Yao thanks him, and cranks the windows back up. Setting the engine into full steam, the steam-carriage lurches forward before settling into a smooth drive. Yong-soo watches the figure of the border guard get smaller and smaller. It is only when he cannot see the man that he speaks.

"Yong-joon told me that Alfred felt similar to That Man."

"Ah, did he? I noticed it myself, aru."

"…Does that mean that That Man is here?"

"Not necessarily, but I am sure that he is in this area."

"Hyung?"

"Yes?"

"How do you know that he's here?"

Yao shrugs, and laughs tiredly.

"I don't know, Yong-soo. I honestly don't know how, but I know he's here….And we're going to find him."

"…Alright, hyung."

...

...

They hold the funeral on a sunny afternoon in the middle of February. He supposes that his brother would have enjoyed the irony. After all, funerals seem like the type of event to be held in rain, and not while the sun is shining. Ludwig sighs, and looks upwards at the light blue expanse of sky, and squints at the sun; before turning to look at the rest of the funeral-goers sitting in rows before the coffin.

They have varying degrees of sadness on their face. Elizabeta is weeping, their father sits silently with a stoic expression, and most everyone else seems fairly indifferent, and a few people standing at the fringes seem to be smothering smirks. It's not all that surprising, his brother had always had a talent for getting on people's nerves. And Ludwig? Well, he supposes that his face is set in the same expression as always.

His older brother is dead.

Ludwig glances over at the coffin, which has an exorbitant amount of red roses and white lilies on top. There is no body in the coffin, as apparently he was killed in his apartment on the banks of the Elucian River, and his body was dumped off of the balcony and was carried away by the current. Apparently the Elucian Mafia had a grudge against him. Apparently they sent a hit-man armed with a gun that shot a bullet straight through his head, killing him instantly. Dead.

Gilbert Beilschmidt is dead.

It's a strange thought, Gilbert being dead. Gilbert had always seemed invincible, bragging and boasting his "five meters", and his "awesomeness", and how he was "the older brother, so you better listen to me West!". Ludwig had never remembered a time without his brother, who was four years older than him and heir to Beilschmidt Clockwork Inc., but an inch and a half shorter than Ludwig and kind of an annoying brat most of the time.

His brother had had white hair and red eyes, and some Traditionalists called him _demon spawn_ and _devil-child_, but Gilbert had laughed it off and said that _those assholes can't handle my awesomeness._ Maybe that's why the mafia had killed him; some factions were rumored to be highly Traditionalist, and superstitious about all the old ways.

In any case, Gilbert was dead, and Ludwig wondered if he should feel more depressed, because all he was feeling was _numb_, because it _didn't make sense_ that Gilbert, cocky, arrogant, _dangerous_ Gilbert would die so easily. Ludwig frowned, and stared at the coffin that rested on a bed of red roses and white lilies.

Nothing made any sense anymore.

...

The sun was setting by the time the funeral was over, but some foresighted individual (probably his father) had thought to have gas lanterns brought out, which lit everything in a chemical glow. Ludwig stood at the foot of the grave and stared at the inscription in their soft light.

_Gilbert Beilschmidt_

_Beloved brother, son, and friend_

_3782 A.F.-3793 AF _

_You will be dearly missed_

He hears footsteps behind him, and turns to stare at the person. It's Roderich, Gilbert's friend/rival/prank target. He is Ludwig's friend too, although they are not particularly close. He looks painfully awkward and out of place, standing at the gravestone with a shifty, slightly secretive look on his face. Roderich greets him in a low tone.

"Hello, Ludwig."

"Hello."

"I'm sorry about your brother."

"….As am I."

Roderich coughs, and looks around, as if to make sure there are no listeners hiding behind the stone markers dotting the field they stand in. He reaches into the inner pocket of his heavy black overcoat, and pulls out a piece of paper, folded, with a blob of blue wax to keep it closed. He holds it out to Ludwig.

" Here. Gilbert told me to give this to you, in case anything happened to him"

Ludwig took the paper, and stared at it. The wax was imprinted with a cross and eagle.

It was his brother's insignia, nearly identical to Ludwig's own.

"When did he give it to you?"

"Quite a while ago. It was a few days after his engagement to Elizabeta had been announced, actually."

Ludwig frowned and slipped the paper into his pocket; he would read it later.

"Thank you, Roderich."

"You're welcome."

A pause.

"Do you think he's actually dead?"

Roderich shrugs, and turns to leave, but stops.

"To tell you the truth…I don't know. They never found the body. And despite his bragging, I never thought that Gilbert could be murdered so easily."

"Neither did I."

"…It's getting late. I should take Lizzy home. Goodnight, Ludwig."

"Goodbye."

Roderich walks away slowly, and Ludwig listens to the sound of the musician's footsteps getting fainter and fainter until he cannot hear anything but the wind whistling around the tombstones and through the grass. When he is certain that there is no living soul nearby (but God knows how many ghosts), he opens the note, breaking the blue seal. It is a short note, and written in his brother's handwriting.

"_I don't have much time now. If you're reading this, West, then I am dead. I'm rather sorry about this, but there's nothing to be done about it. _

_Actually, I'm not sorry. But that's not important. I meant to write a more awesome note, but this'll do, I guess. Since I'm gone, I guess you'll be the one Vater gives the factories and shit too, when he dies. Don't fuck that up, you're the only son now and you'd better do a good job managing everything. You'll be fine, you were always more organized than I was._

_Anyway, I'm just writing this note to say goodbye. I'll miss you, West, you and Lizzy and everyone else still alive…..Don't you DARE tell anyone I wrote that. I'm too awesome to be sentimental. Take care of Gilbird for me, alright? Love ya bro. You better have a fucking awesome life._

_Gilbert the Awesome Beilschmidt_

_P.S. Listen, if you're ever in trouble, go find Francis Bonnefoy, in Elucia. Tell him you're Gilbert's brother, and he'll (probably) help you out. Don't go saying his name around everywhere, alright? He's not exactly respectable. At all._

_P.P.S Don't show this to anyone, alright? Burn it after you read it. Or eat it. Or rip it into pieces and throw them in the river. Just…Get rid of this._

_P.P.P.S. You need to get laid_

Ludwig smiles slightly, and folds the paper back up and puts it in his pocket. He stares at the grave some more; the empty grave that has his brother's name but not his body. His logical mind adds up all the facts, but none of them lead to 'The Death of Gilbert'. Nothing about this situation makes any sense. Elucia. Murder. Mafia. Francis Bonnefoy. An empty coffin. A letter from the dead.

_Perhaps_, he thinks_, it would not be too strange for me to finish my studies in Elucia. After all, they do have the best university in the Empire._

Perhaps there, he would find some answers.

...

...

It's a Thursday night, and Arthur is heading home from work. _Work. _What a strange idea, him being a respectable citizen of the Empire, with a legal job. It's been three years since the Incident, but he still marvels at the fact that he can go walking down the street without having to skulk in the shadows, in fear of the King's Guards coming after him. Quite extraordinary.

The streets on this side of the city are clean and well-kept, made out of light grey cobblestone, with green trees at intervals. The roads are quiet at this time of day, and the streetlamps are lit. The occasional steam-carriage puffs by, and airships float high overhead. He looks up and watches them with a wistful look.

Arthur Kirkland is twenty three years old and a teaching assistant at Elucia University. He teaches a class on Ancient Magics, purely theoretical, but an interesting subject nonetheless. He has no degree in any subject, and has had only one year of formal schooling, but manages to secure a job at EU by passing the entrance exams with the highest scores ever recorded. He lives in a small brick house on the East Side of Elucia, along with a man named Francis Bonnefoy, whom he absolutely despises, and sometimes two teenage twins who come and go.

Arthur Kirkland is a perfectly respectable member of society.

At least, he thinks; that is what he tells himself. In reality, he has six holes in his ears where gold earrings once existed and at least fifty scars from guns, explosives, knives, swords, and switchblades. He can disable a man in thirty seconds and kill him in a minute, he can fly an airship with his eyes closed, and he can steal your wallet in the time it takes you to _blink._

Arthur Kirkland was a sky pirate since the day he was six and stowed aboard an airship in his hometown of Albion.

He smiles ruefully. The key word here is _was. _

It's probably best not to think of the his head and turning the corner, he heads to the local bar. If he has time to think about the past, then he has time to get a quick drink before going home.

After all, the Incident made sure that he would go back to being a pirate again.

...

A few drinks later, and the world seems like a much better place. Arthur isn't quite drunk yet, but he isn't exactly sober, either. He's sitting with his back to the bar, absently watching people come in and out, wondering where they come from, where they're going, why they're here, how that girl has gorgeous eyes, and that man has the longest mustache, and why he is even thinking about all these random strangers. He wonders if he should head home, then realizes that he'd probably get chewed out by Alfred for not coming home when he had said he would. That boy could be awfully touchy sometimes.

So maybe he'll stay here for a while, and order another drink.

One drink turns to another, and another and another, and somewhere along the night he forgets that he came here to stop remembering and ends up ranting about the incident to someone sitting next to him, a stranger that is particularly sympathetic, and the last thing he can remember before blacking out is a voice, and not one he recognizes.

"_…..but every wish comes with a price."_

It's an odd statement, but that doesn't really matter…..

...

Arthur wakes up and the bar is in flames.

...

...

_In case you haven't noticed, all these events happen over the course of one day._

_(Asians-morning, Ludwig-afternoon/evening, Arthur-night)_

_This is pretty much an introductory chapter, where all the next events are put in motion, but there will be more action later on. It's also the ONLY chapter that will have all these different points of view…._

_The last part was pretty shitty…I'm sorry, I wanted to get this uploaded quickly._

_And yes, Yong-joon is my North Korea OC. In this story, he's a demon that has been hijacking Yong-soo's body. (lol that sounds awk…..)(siblings in korea often have the same first syllable in their name, therefore my reasoning for his name.)_

_GAH I have to go study-I've got two tests that I haven't prepared for orz_

_Hope you liked the chapter, please read and review! :D_

…_._

_Love, _

_awesomnia_


	2. flames and wind

Sup, guys? How's life been treating ya?

**IMPORTANT CRAP**

In all honesty, the only reason this fic is being continued is because of _I am Sweden, _the ONLY reviewer of the last chapter.

So thank her for the fact that there's a second chapter : )

And I'm going to sound like a dick right now, but guys, I **need at least three reviews for there to be a third chapter. **(that's not an unreasonable request, hell, just leave a note saying "nice fic" or "this sucks" and I'll be happy. Takes two seconds)

But yeah, enough of that shit.

**LESS IMPORTANT CRAP**

Warnings/Notes

-fem!Italy and fem!Canada. because the hetalia-verse has a suspicious lack of female characters. (HMMM I WONDER WHY *coughyaoicough*)

-possible ooc. I've never written some of these characters before.

-SO. MUCH. MOTHERFUCKING. DIALOGUE.

-I guess….if you put your slash goggles on…FrUk? But not really (I read too much slash….)

Here's the second chapter of _Wish and Price._

Enjoy~

_Chapter 2: Curious and curiouser. _

_!#$%^&*()!#$%^&*(_

_He wakes up, and the bar is in flames._

_)*##$^((%#$%^&*(&%$_

Fire. Everywhere. The bar is in disarray, chairs and tables knocked over, people screaming, searching for each other, stumbling over themselves to get out the door. Flames flicker, casting shadows and blowing smoke in every which way. The various alcohols carefully lined up behind the bars are cracked and smashed, blowing up in blazes, sending little waves of heat into the conflagration. The smoke obscures nearly everything, and makes it hard to breathe. Arthur is stunned. _Oh God, oh God, oh God, what's happening? What's going on? How do I get out of here?_ Of all the dangerous stunts he's pulled; Arthur's never been in a fire before. _Oh God he's gonna die, he's gonna die, he's gonna die._

The fire seems to be getting larger, and the heat feels like it's blistering his skin off. An escaping woman knocks him off the seat he's standing in as she shouts to someone across the room in desperation. Arthur lurches to his feet, and sticks a handkerchief over his nose, coughing. _Where's the bloody exit? _Eyes stinging, he gazes desperately into the smoke. He can't see anything. White smoke. There is pandemonium everywhere and he can't find the goddamn door in the smog. His head pounds with the combined effects of rum and sheer terror and adrenaline. It gets hotter. He _needs _to find that door. _He is not going to die here._

A sudden gust of wind makes the flames shiver, and the smog and fire is pushed back and a narrow corridor of clear, not burning space that leads to what looks like the rear entrance of the bar. If the situation had been less desperate, he would have been amazed by the phenomenon, but there is no time. He stumbles into a shaky run, and practically flies out the door, wind whistling around him, adrenaline surging through his blood. _Saved. _

Arthur stops two blocks away, panting, and stares at the fiery building. The top floor of the places has collapsed on itself and the whole place is a burning ruin. Pedestrians gawk at the sight, and some members of the Sun Guard are rushing to put out the fire. He shivers. After being in what practically amounted to a furnace, the winter night's chill is even worse than earlier. He turns and jogs away, noticing with the corner of his mind that the wind and light snow are swirling around more than usual. That's enough adventure for one night. He wonders how the flames parted for him. It is a troubling event. He should be dead now, but he isn't. And flames aren't supposed to _do _that.

Home, and a cup of tea, sound absolutely fantastic right now.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Between the metal-workers district and University, on a wide cobblestone street, is a shop known by the name of _Williams' Clockwork and Repairs. _Above this shop, which is not owned by anyone named Williams, is a modest apartment; the home of three young men (though one is often away) and one young woman, and some miscellaneous other visitors.. The apartment is about the average size, does not always have hot water, and goes through cycles of clean-slovenly depending on the moon, tides, and whether or not anyone feels like cleaning. Despite these faults, the apartment is home, tastefully furnished and with brightly lit rooms.

Francis is not worried about Arthur. Not at all. He is not annoyed or worried about the fact that it is two-thirty in the morning and Arthur has not even bothered to use a public telephone to tell them that he will be out late. Francis hates the boy (they are nearly the same age, but Arthur will forever be _the boy), _and he could not care less that Arthur is not home.

"You know, if you're that worried about him, then why don't you go looking for him?"

A bored question-statement from the self-invited visitor lying across the couch.

"_I'm not worried. _That eyebrowed monstrosity can find his own way home. And why are you still here, Gilbert? Surely you have someplace to be at this hour."

Gilbert smirks, with a touch of irony and looks over at Francis. The blond man is leaning against a wall, and looking out the window every few minutes, as if his eyesight would make Arthur appear.

"Actually, I don't. Hotel rooms are sort of unawesome, and if I stay in them too long their unawesome boringness rubs off on me."

Francis snorts, and glances out the window (again).

"That is your own fault, Gilbert. False deaths tend to leave you homeless. "

"Hey! I had my reasons!"

"I'm sure you did, and perhaps one day you will explain to me why in the name of all that is holy you needed Antonio and me to "kill" you, anyway."

"One day, maybe, but anywa-Yargh!"

The door suddenly opens with a _slam!,_ letting a gust of absolutely freezing wind and snowflakes into the warm-ish living room. Francis jumps, and stares at the figure in the doorway. Gilbert falls off the couch. Arthur steps inside neatly, and closes the door.

"Well, Francis? Aren't you going to say hello, instead of just gawking like the frog you are? And why on earth is Gilbert here?"

Arthur's voice is raspy and cracked. He is covered in soot, and his hair is tousled and messy. Despite that, he seems perfectly composed-except for the slight fact that his hands are shaking. He disappears into the kitchen, and Francis follows him. Francis sits down at the table, crosses his arms, and watches Arthur make a cup of tea.

"You are covered in ash. And your shirt is singed. Care to explain?"

"There was a fire at the bar, Francis. Where are the twins? And why is Gilbert here?"

"I don't know why he's here. Alfred is at work, and Mattie is sleeping. Stop changing the subject. What happened?"

"…Nothing. You would not believe me if I told you."  
>Francis arches an eyebrow, and notices a sudden breeze whipping around the kitchen. Strange.<p>

"Oh? You think so highly of me, _cher_."

Arthur scowls, and looks down at his tea.

"Stop being sarcastic, Francis. It doesn't suit you. "

"Then explain to me why you are covered in ash and your hands are shaking."

Arthur looks up, and _glares _at him, the same glare that made men twice his size wither in fear. Francis stares back, impassive, eyebrow arched. (In the living room Gilbert hides behind the sofa, eavesdropping.)

Arthur looks away, and sets the cup of tea down on the worn wooden table. He frowns, and stirs it thoughtfully.

"I should be dead right now. I mean, I was in the absolute middle of the bar and I couldn't see the door-there was smoke everywhere. It was on _fire. _I thought I was going to die-and I was scared out of my bloody mind-when the path suddenly cleared. It was practically supernatural. Smoke just parted into this straight path. Weird as hell."

"Are you sure you were not imagining it?"

Arthur _glares, _again.

"Bloody Fucking Positive. I should have died there, from smoke inhalation, if nothing else. It was like magic."

Francis quirks a slight smile. Magic is a thing of ancient histories, not a modern practice. Arthur knows this quite well; after all, he teaches classes about the old theoretical magicks.

"Very well then, and if that was magic, were you the mage?"

"Who knows. Maybe that guy I talked to before passing out gave me magic powers. "

"Sarcasm does not suit you either, boy."

"Oh fuck off."

Arthur finishes his tea, and goes to wash the soot off. Francis puts the cup in the sink, and rinses it off with some water. He walks out of the kitchen, intent on getting some sleep.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Arthur pauses. There is an albino man blocking the doorway of the bathroom, a thoughtful frown plastered on his face. Both "thoughtful" and "frowns" are not words often associated with this albino man, who proceeds to ask a question.

"You said you spoke to a man in the bar?"

"Yes, your point being?"

"What did he look like?"

"I don't remember all that well. He was tall, and had purple eyes-I think."

"Did he say anything…strange, to you?

"Gilbert, why the _hell _does this matter?"

"_Just answer the question!"_

Arthurs eyebrows arch in surprise; he has never seen Gilbert so serious, red eyes narrowed and mouth set in a frown.

"Well, he said something about my greatest wish? And something about flowers? I don't remember, really."

Gilbert laughs, suddenly.

"Well, we're all fucked, aren't we?"

He walks away, hands stuck in pockets, leaving Arthur confused and irritated in the doorway. _What on earth was that about?_

As he turns on the shower he hears the slam of the front door.

…

There was more, but it all got erased. Cause my computer hates me. So….enjoy?


End file.
